Ask Me No Questions, I'll Tell You No Lies
by wildchild17
Summary: How far would Mike's loyalty to Harvey go? In which Harvey loses his temper, curiosity proves to be a mistake, and Donna understands. Mid-S3 oneshot. Non-slash.


**AN: I just started watching Suits recently and I'm completely addicted, so here's a little something that came into my head... I'm only up to season 3 though, so I'm sorry if it doesn't fit with the later seasons! Assume this is happening some time mid-S3. Hope you enjoy.**

* * *

"I don't know anything," Mike said again, and was rewarded with yet another hit round the face with the gun. He spat blood and held back a groan, staring up at his assailants defiantly.

"Let's try again," the man growled. "We _know_ you know things. Bloody hell, he's practically in love with you if the past week is anything to go by."

"He's my _friend_ ," Mike interrupted angrily. "Not that that's something you'd understand."

The man laughed. "You've just admitted you're close to him, kid. Believe me, it'll make your life a lot easier if you just tell us what you know about dear _Mr Specter_."

"Okay then, if that's what you want me to say. I do know things. I'm still not telling you anything." Mike closed his eyes as he felt blood dripping down his temple. _The things I do for you, Harvey,_ he thought. _How am I going to get out of this one?_

* * *

 _One week earlier_

"Donna, get Mike in here."

"He's already here," came the smooth reply. Harvey looked up from the mound of papers strewn across his desk and scowled at his associate.

"I need – " Mike started, but Harvey cut him off.

"I don't care what you need. I care what I need, which right now, is for you to get the files for the Fleetwood case ready, which you should have done _three hours ago_ _._ "

Mike slapped two files on the desk with a tight smile. "There. Can I speak now, Your Honour?"

Harvey ignored him and flicked quickly through the files. To his slight annoyance, they all seemed to be exactly in order, which left him nothing to nag Mike about. He sighed and relented slightly. "What do you want?"

"I need you to get rid of Katrina off this case," the younger man said, relaxing now that Harvey's bad mood seemed to have abated slightly. "She's driving me mad; she keeps lording here elevated _fifth-year_ status over me and telling me what to do, and – "

"Cramping your style?" Harvey asked with a grin. He didn't have a particular problem with Katrina, but he knew she and Mike had been at loggerheads ever since the girl had arrived.

"Yes!"

"Well, I would just tell you to deal with her, but as it happens, there was more than one reason I wanted to see you." He paused and shuffled the papers slightly, enjoying keeping Mike in suspense. "Fleetwood's second-in-command – Jefferson – is still out there dealing with the situation and he wants a representative from the firm to come and help handle the opposition, for a week or so. Jessica's asked me to go and I want you with me."

Mike sat down and stared at Harvey. "You're asking _me_?"

"If you think you can't handle it, I could always ask Katrina instead," Harvey said, smirking slightly.

Mike shook his head vehemently. "No! Definitely not. I'm just – thanks, Harvey." He grinned and Harvey couldn't help returning the smile.

He returned to the papers and began to separate out the ones they would need to take with them. "Are you still here?" he asked, not looking up. "We're leaving in half an hour. Go and get yourself sorted."

* * *

The case had not started out as a difficult one. It was a dispute between a multimillion dollar software giant and one of its now-ex employees, and given that it was based in New York, it should have been resolved within a few weeks. And it would have been, had the employee in question not suddenly rallied a group of supporters behind him back at the company base where they worked. A whole host of problems with the case had consequently presented themselves and suddenly everything required _extremely_ sensitive handling.

Which, Mike thought dryly, probably didn't make Harvey the ideal choice for the case. But that was not his decision to make. He leaned forward in an attempt to pay closer attention to the conversation.

"Mr Specter, that is simply not an option," Jefferson said uncomfortably, shifting in his seat. The silent associate next to him stared frostily at Mike, who looked away hastily.

"What do you mean, it's not an option?" Harvey exclaimed. They would have to leave soon, Mike thought, before Harvey said something they couldn't fix. "It's your only option. You asked us to come here, Mr Jefferson; you _wanted_ our help. Why are we here if you don't want my advice?"

Jefferson was silent for a few seconds. Mike watched him carefully and noted the tiny beads of sweat gathering at his temples. This was a man under serious pressure – was it only Harvey providing that pressure, Mike wondered?

"I am sorry, Mr Specter. But I can't do that." Jefferson got to his feet; the meeting was obviously over. Mike could see the badly disguised frustration on Harvey's face and decided to step in.

He reached out to shake hands with the businessman, forcing a smile. "Thank you for your time, Mr Jefferson. I hope we'll be able to help you as much as possible with this situation while we're here." Jefferson nodded and gave Mike a strained smile in return. "We'll show ourselves out," Mike added, feeling that the tension in the room was already thick enough without forcing the two powerful men together for any longer.

Harvey nodded curtly at Jefferson and walked out without making any further comment. Mike, at a loss for what else to do, gave an apologetic smile and followed. Just as he was getting into the elevator, he met eyes with a tall, frowning man at the end of the corridor, who abruptly turned and went back the other way. Mike shook his head. The people at this company were just downright _strange._

It wasn't until they were out in the street that Harvey exploded.

"That man is a complete _imbecile_!" he shouted, slamming his fist against the wall of the company and making some passers-by stare curiously. "He has no idea that he's jeopardising his entire business' prospects, does he? I mean, what does he stand to gain by refusing to discipline those employees? Nothing, that's what!"

Mike sighed. "I know. He doesn't realise what he stands to lose if he doesn't get rid of them while he can." He hurried after Harvey, who had begun to stride angrily down the street as if stamping as hard as he could would transfer his feelings to the man in question. "What are we going to do?" he asked.

Harvey looked at him grimly. " _We_ are not going to do anything," he answered. "You, however, are going to do _this_ …"

* * *

"I'm afraid Mr Specter was unable to attend our meeting today, Mr Jefferson. He sends his most sincere apologies." Mike shuffled the papers in his hands and did his best not to look nervous. Harvey was, in fact, waiting for him in the lobby on the ground floor, expecting Mike to return with news of his success.

"No problem, Mr Ross," Jefferson answered smoothly. He seemed a little more composed than he had the day before, Mike thought. He really hoped Harvey's plan was going to work. "Let's get onto the business, shall we?"

"Yes. Of course. Mr Jefferson, yesterday you said that it would not be possible for you to discipline your employees who have been stirring up the situation here. Could you please explain to me why?"

Jefferson sighed. "Because they haven't technically done anything wrong, as yet. Nothing against company policy, anyway."

"Do you have any idea what they hope to achieve?"

A pause. The man looked at the door, then back at Mike. "None."

 _Liar,_ thought Mike. He leaned forward. "Sir, do you understand the repercussions for this company if you don't get rid of these men? You're taking a huge risk every day that you keep them on." Jefferson said nothing. "Do you understand that?" Mike pressed.

Abruptly, the man slammed his palm onto the glass table between them. "Yes, I understand, Mr Ross," he said tightly. His eyes flicked towards the door behind Mike again.

Mike was silent for a few seconds, thinking fast. "Very well. It's interesting that you say it's against your policy to deal with rogue employees, Mr Jefferson, because last night I spoke to your boss, and he told me that he had specifically given you permission to deal with the crisis by whatever means necessary." He let that sink in. "Mr Fleetwood will be very interested to hear that you are refusing to fire the very men causing him so many problems, I'm sure."

Jefferson had suddenly gone rather pale. "Max wouldn't – "

" – wouldn't what? Dismiss you? I rather think he'd have no choice. Mark my words, Mr Jefferson, if you don't get rid of those troublemakers you'll regret it for the rest of your life. Have a nice day."

He allowed himself a slight smile as he walked out – after all he had just pulled off a truly Harvey-Specter-worthy speech - but the smile vanished as he noticed the frowning man from yesterday standing across from the conference room where he'd been meeting with Jefferson. Once again, as soon as he realised Mike had seen him, the man slipped away. Was that who Jefferson had been glancing at out the door every five seconds?

Harvey was still acting a little grumpy, but Mike could tell he was pleased with the morning's work. "He'll cave soon," he said with a satisfied nod. He clapped Mike on the shoulder. "Good job, kid. He didn't realise you were bluffing about Fleetwood, by the sound of it, and if he's as worried as you say, then he'll be too scared to try and call him. Jessica said it needs closing by the end of the week. Easy. It's practically done."

* * *

Three days later, however, Harvey and Mike had met with Jefferson every day, and he still hadn't given in.

"He's hiding something," Mike said on the third day, as they sat in on a bench eating hotdogs from a nearby stand. It was mid-afternoon and they'd missed lunch for yet another meeting, but hotdogs were the best they could do. "I thought it the first time we saw him, when he looked so stressed. Now he'd rather lose his job than fire those men. It doesn't make sense."

Harvey shook his head and gave an acidic reply, but Mike didn't hear it. He was suddenly staring intently at the crowds passing down the street in front of them, frowning. "That man," he interrupted sharply. "The one in the dark coat. Tall. Walking away from us."

Harvey was about to snap at Mike about interrupting him again, but he caught the younger man's tone and sat up a little straighter. "I see him. Why?"

"Every day that we've been in to see Jefferson, he's been there. First time he was just at the end of the corridor; when I went in on my own he was hanging around outside the conference room. I think Jefferson kept looking at him during our meeting."

"He probably just works there, Mike."

"Then why is he always there when we're there? Don't most people with a job at a software company have better things to do than walk around on a floor where there are only conference rooms?"

"There might be offices on that floor too," Harvey said, but he was less certain this time.

Mike jumped to his feet. "You know, I kept thinking, that first day, that Jefferson was acting like a man caught between a rock and a hard place. I think I know why." He handed Harvey the second half of his hot dog. "You can finish that. I'll meet you back at the hotel." He moved away quickly, the same way that the man in the dark coat had gone.

"Where are you going?" Harvey shouted after him.

"To find out what's really going on with Jefferson!" Mike shouted back, and was lost in the crowd.

Harvey groaned. Having an associate had its perks, but it also had one hell of a lot of drawbacks.

* * *

Mike dodged through the crowds, doing his best to keep the man in sight. He had been following him for only a few minutes when he turned down a quieter side street, and Mike rounded the corner just in time to see his quarry slip inside a building and shut the door behind him.

The building looked abandoned. Mike was more than a little suspicious, but curiosity – and a desire to prove to Harvey that he was right – drove him towards the door. It was open, just a crack; enough space for Mike to force it fully open. He stepped into the darkness inside, and just had time to wish he had a torch, before something hit him on the head and everything exploded in pain.

* * *

A sharp slap brought him round.

Mike blinked, his vision swimming as he struggled to make sense of his surroundings. His head was throbbing violently. He was sitting on a chair in the middle of what looked like it had once been a storeroom, but was now gathering dirt and dust and had clearly more recently been used as a hideout for… something. Or someone. Mike didn't really want to follow that thought any further.

When he could finally see, he looked up, and flinched back on reflex. That was when he realised his hands were tied. He looked down, and back up again, adrenaline flooding his system as fear kicked in. He was, quite literally, staring down the barrel of a gun.

The man holding said gun smiled sardonically and lowered it to his side. This was not the man Mike had followed; he looked more like some kind of wrestler than a software businessman, as did his three cronies slouching behind him.

"Mike Ross, am I right?" the man said coolly, giving that unpleasant smile again. "So pleased to make your acquaintance." He gave a little sarcastic bow and his friends behind him laughed nastily.

Mike tried to control his breathing. _Don't panic. Don't panic._ "What do you want?" he managed. He heard the fear in his voice and cursed it, knowing they would have heard it too.

The man wasted no time. "You know Harvey Specter." It wasn't a question. Mike said nothing. "We know you've been working the Fleetwood case with him. Tell us everything Specter knows about it."

"Why should I tell you anything? Why do you care about the Fleetwood case?" Mike asked, sounding a lot bolder than he felt.

The man fingered his gun as he looked at Mike. "That's no business of yours. We know he trusts you. We need all the information Harvey Specter has on Fleetwood and the current situation the business is facing, and we know he's told you everything. Start talking."

Mike swallowed. "What if I refuse to tell you anything?"

The man flicked the safety catch off the gun. Mike closed his eyes for a second. He was so terrified he could barely think straight, with the blood thundering in his ears and every breath catching in his chest.

"I don't know anything," he said quietly. So fast Mike had no chance seeing it coming, the man whipped round and smacked the gun across Mike's face. He cried out in shock and pain, head spinning, and gasped for breath. _Calm down, Mike. You'll never get out of this otherwise._

"Would you like to answer that question again?" the man asked softly. His friends gathered closer around Mike, like a silent storm waiting to break.

Harvey had once told him that there were always more than two options when someone was holding a gun to your head. He hadn't meant it literally. Mike wondered vaguely if the same principle still applied.

"I don't know anything," he repeated, and was rewarded with another hit round the face with the gun. He spat blood and held back a groan, staring up at his assailants defiantly.

"Let's try again," the man growled. "We _know_ you know things. Bloody hell, he's practically in love with you if the past week is anything to go by."

"He's my _friend_ ," Mike interrupted angrily. "Not that that's something you'd understand."

The man laughed. "You've just admitted you're close to him, kid. Believe me, it'll make your life a lot easier if you just tell us what you know about dear _Mr Specter_."

"Okay then, if that's what you want me to say. I do know things. I'm still not telling you anything." Mike closed his eyes as he felt blood dripping down his temple. _The things I do for you, Harvey,_ he thought. _How am I going to get out of this one?_

It was getting dark outside. Mike could hardly see the room any more through the gloom. He flinched as the man leaned down close to his ear, and held his breath to stop himself yelling as he forced his fingers into the bloody wound on the side of Mike's head. _You have to press where it hurts_ , Harvey's voice said somewhere behind him. Mike almost laughed. Great, so now he was hallucinating.

Perhaps he should just tell them. Harvey couldn't exactly blame him for not managing to get out of this situation, could he? It didn't really seem worth so much pain… He was afraid. These men wanted information that he'd admitted to having, and they seemed pretty desperate for it.

He didn't want to die.

But just as that thought came to him, other memories flooded in unbidden: Harvey, giving him the job even though he had no degree. Harvey, putting his job on the line to protect Mike. Harvey's anger when Mike had betrayed him for Jessica. He'd made that mistake once; he wouldn't do it again. He thought of the time they'd smoked pot together after Mike's Grammy had died, of the laughter they'd shared, of the friendships that working for Harvey had brought into his life. He thought of how much had changed since that day where Trevor had tried to set him up and he'd accidently walked in on the Pearson Hardman interviews.

He didn't want to die. But he would never betray Harvey.

* * *

"I need to pee," Mike said, mumbling slightly since his bruised lip had started to swell up. As had his face… But he could cope with that. He had finally come up with a plan of sorts.

The four men looked at him from the corner where they had been conversing quietly. Hours had passed and Mike had told them nothing, and he guessed they were trying to figure out what to do with him.

"Tough," the ringleader said sharply. "You'll have to wait."

"I've already been waiting about four hours. You really want me to do it all over the floor?"

They looked at each other and the leader nodded. Mike could have sung as his hands were released and the blood began to flow again, the relief was so great.

The man pushed him into the corner. Mike looked at him questioningly. "It's that bucket or nothing," he growled, and Mike shrugged. He glanced around the room. They'd taken his phone when they'd knocked him out, but he'd noticed it abandoned on a chair earlier and he saw now it was still there.

He made a show of fumbling with his button and fly, pretending his hands were numb. Then, as suddenly as he could, he turned and punched the man in the face, sending him stumbling backwards with a yell.

He scrambled for the phone and pressed the emergency dial button just before the other three men jumped on him. He flung the phone away across the room and one of them dashed after it. Mike groaned as they kicked him to the floor, but he saw the phone ring through just once before the man stamped on it. The screen shattered and went black.

One ring would be have to be enough.

* * *

It had been nearly five hours since Harvey had last seen Mike, which he hadn't been counting, obviously. Harvey probably wouldn't have admitted it, but he was getting a little concerned. After all, he liked having an associate. It was useful to have someone to give all the pro-bono cases to.

Harvey sighed and glanced at his watch. He was bored – the hotel room TV didn't have nearly enough decent channels on it – and tired of waiting. It was at precisely that moment that his phone began to ring, and he grabbed it eagerly.

Hm. Unknown number. "Harvey Specter speaking."

"Mr Specter, you are listed as next of kin to Mr Michael Ross, is that correct?" _Oh, shit._ "Mr Specter, are you still there?"

"Yes," he said, fighting to keep his voice calm. "What's happened?"

"We received a 911 call from Mr Ross' mobile about half an hour ago. It was cut off very sharply but as is our routine we traced the call to an abandoned warehouse , and I'm afraid we have a situation there –"

"What kind of situation?" Harvey interrupted.

"Are you in New York, sir?"

"Yes!" he shouted. "Tell me what's happening!"

"I'm sorry, I can't do that over the phone. I'm sending you the location now. Please be there as soon as you can."

The call ended. Harvey grabbed a jacket and his car keys, thankful he'd driven here himself, and tried to ignore the way his hands were shaking. The elevator seemed to move unbearably slowly as it carried him down to the hotel lobby.

The doors opened with a soft _ping_ to reveal none other than Jessica Pearson standing in front of him.

"Jessica!" Harvey blurted. "What are you doing here?"

She raised her eyebrows. "I'm here to get you up to date on the Fleetwood case. As I told you I would be. What the hell's happened to you? You look like someone died."

He'd forgotten she was coming. Harvey deliberated for only a second before grabbing her arm and pulling her with him. "Something's happened to Mike. I'll explain on the way. Come on."

Harvey liked driving fast cars, but he'd always made sure he drove safe when he was in the city. He was a lawyer after all; a car crash wouldn't look good on his record. Nonetheless, he made it to the warehouse in significantly less time than it ought to have taken. There was a crowd of policemen and vans sprawled outside the building, the flashing lights giving the place the look of a crime scene. He pulled up and hurried towards the police. People were stopping to stare, wondering what was going on. Harvey wanted to strangle them.

One broke away when she saw him approach. "Mr Specter?" She was quite young, about the same age as Mike, he noticed. The same woman who'd spoken to him on the phone.

"Yes," Harvey answered. "Tell me what's going on here. Where's Mike?"

"In there," she said, pointing up to the first floor of the warehouse. "About ten minutes after we received the call, two of our men entered the building and found a man waiting inside, evidently left as a guard. They managed to get to the top of the stairs and identified Mike Ross along with three, possibly four other men. All have guns. Our men backed off to wait for further instructions. The SWAT team will be here in about – " she looked at her watch, " – three minutes."

Harvey couldn't quite believe this was happening. They were _lawyers_ , not soldiers. This sort of thing didn't happen in real life. "Is he okay? Mike, I mean?"

"As far as we can tell he's conscious and has no serious injuries."

"What do they want?"

She shook her head. "We don't know, I'm afraid. We – "

"Well what _do_ you know?" Harvey snarled. "Mike's in there with four men with guns, who are now aware that you're waiting outside to catch them! How do you know he's not been shot, or beaten half to death and right now is bleeding out while you wait in safety out here?"

Jessica suddenly grabbed his arm. He jumped slightly, having forgotten she was there. "That's _enough_ , Harvey. They're doing everything they can." She smiled tightly at the woman and waved her away. She scurried back to her team.

"For goodness' sake, calm down. You're scaring the poor woman," Jessica said firmly. Distant sirens could be heard, heading their way.

"You want me to _calm down_?" Harvey asked incredulously. "How can I? There must be something I can do. I can't just standhere not knowing what's going on up there." He hated feeling out of control. All his life, he'd been the man with the answer, the man dictating the terms, and now…

"You can't do anything, Harvey," Jessica answered gently. Harvey turned away, unable to voice what he felt and knowing that he would probably regret anything he said.

The sirens were louder now, and suddenly, two vans rounded the corner and skidded to a halt. Men poured out and swarmed up to the building, through the door and vanished. Several stayed outside the door with guns ready, their flashlights lighting up the dark street like a Christmas tree. Inside, they could be heard thundering up the stairs. A lot of shouting followed, and then several gunshots. More shouting.

Harvey was frozen to the spot, staring up at the room where he knew Mike was. He'd never felt so helpless and he hated it. He wasn't stupid; he wouldn't try to follow the SWATs up there and help. But, hell, he wished he knew what was happening. What if one of those shots had hit Mike?

The minutes dragged out and the silence out on the street was deafening. At last, a radio belonging to one of the policemen crackled. "Situation neutralised. Get an ambulance here, fast."

The special forces were starting to exit the building. They had five men in handcuffs and bundled them quickly into one of the vans, throwing their guns into the other. One of them was the man Mike had followed, Harvey realised with a sick feeling in his stomach. If only he'd stopped him…

He pushed forwards towards the door. _Ambulance - fast,_ they'd said. What had happened? And then, finally, he saw Mike. The younger man's face was grey and bruised and he was clutching his arm, which had been hurriedly bandaged. Dried blood caked the side of his head. He looked exhausted and Harvey could see the lines of pain drawn across his face, although he could see too that Mike was doing his best to hide it. He stopped when he saw Harvey, despite the men urging him towards the waiting ambulance.

"Harvey," he said, and before he quite knew what he was doing, Harvey had pulled him into a tight hug. He felt Mike tense at first, and then relax. There were no words to say what either of them felt, but somehow, they understood. It was the first time they had hugged, and it would not happen again unless another situation just as dire occurred.

"We need to go, sir." A paramedic was hovering uncertainly behind Mike, who pulled back and nodded at Harvey.

"I'll follow," Harvey said quickly, and perhaps it was his imagination, but Mike looked a little less anxious once he'd said that.

* * *

Harvey was there when Mike awoke, as he'd guessed he would be. He took the opportunity to inspect Harvey's appearance, and saw immediately that the events of the previous day had been almost as tough on him as they had been on Mike. Harvey looked older than Mike had ever seen him and the shadows under his eyes said that he hadn't slept all night – and Mike wasn't naïve enough to think that the plastic hospital chair was entirely to blame.

"You look terrible," he said.

Harvey's head snapped up at Mike's voice and Mike didn't miss the flash of relief on his face. "You look worse," he returned easily.

Mike grinned. "I bet. But I have an excuse." He cleared his throat. "Any water round here?"

Harvey poured him a glass and handed it to him. Mike drank gratefully, trying to ignore how Harvey was staring at him. "Pain meds?" he asked eventually, his voice slightly uneven. "The nurses said they can give you more, if…"

"I'm fine," Mike lied, shaking his head. He was, in actual fact, sore in so many places that he could hardly breathe without hurting somewhere, but medication would make him sleepy, and he wanted to talk.

Harvey eyed him disbelievingly, but chose to let it go. "So – care to tell me what happened after you ran off on your wild goose chase?" His tone was light, but there was a serious note there too.

The story was easily told. Mike skated over the parts about what they'd done to him, and was just describing the cops storming in when Harvey interrupted with the question Mike knew he would ask and had been wondering how to answer.

"But – what did they want?"

Mike paused. The silence was long enough that Harvey looked up from adjusting his watch and frowned. "Mike?"

He met Harvey's eyes and sighed. "You," he answered quietly, not looking away. "They wanted everything you knew about the Fleetwood case. The current situation, the state of the company itself, how Fleetwood's holding up; everything. They knew I'd know."

Harvey's mouth had suddenly gone dry. "Then why you? Why not ask me?"

"I guess they figured it'd be easier to get it out of me." Mike smiled humourlessly. "I don't have a reputation for being a tough old cookie like you do."

Harvey said nothing for a minute. Then: "Did you talk?"

Mike raised his chin a fraction. "You think I'd look like this if I had?"

The older man swallowed and rubbed a hand over his face. "Why didn't you just tell them what you knew? The case would have been salvageable. It wouldn't have ended with you getting shot and beaten to a pulp."

"It wasn't about the case. It was about you. No, let me finish," he held up a hand as Harvey tried to interrupt. "Harvey, you were the one that told me that when someone points a gun at your head there is _always_ another way out. And there was. It just came a couple of hours later. I made the mistake of betraying your loyalty once; I won't do it again."

"I would never ask you to go through that for me," Harvey said at last.

"You didn't have to ask."

"I'm serious, Mike."

Mike smiled faintly. "I know. So am I. Harvey, I know you don't like to say it, but you're my friend. I will never sell you out, whatever that might mean."

Harvey looked at him for a long moment. "Thank you," he said quietly. "And I'm sorry for what happened. I could beat the shit out of those assholes until their own mothers wouldn't recognise them." An uncharacteristically ugly expression passed over his face.

"You have my full permission," Mike chuckled.

* * *

Mike had been back in the office for a week. The bruises were healing fast, as was the gash on his head, and his arm was in a sling. Rachel was fussing over him like a worried mother every minute of the day and Mike had become the hero of the associates, the story of his resistance having spread like wildfire, despite his best efforts to keep it quiet.

Harvey sat in his office watching through the glass as Mike battled to type one-handed, wincing every so often as he knocked his injured arm. He'd been going like this for three hours, and Harvey had been – not checking on him, exactly – more, keeping an eye on him. He took a deep swallow of the cool glass of Scotch in his hand and sighed heavily.

"It's not your fault, you know," came a voice from behind.

Harvey smiled half-heartedly at the floor. "Hello, Donna."

She walked over and perched on the desk beside him, eyeing Mike as he had been doing. Then she turned back to Harvey. "It's not your fault."

"I heard you the first time."

"So listen to me! I'm always right, you know that. And I'm telling you, you've got to stop beating yourself up over what happened to Mike. It wasn't your fault."

He scowled up at her, meeting her steely gaze for the first time. "How exactly is it _not_ my fault, Donna? _I_ was the one who told him everything about Fleetwood, and _my_ reputation was the reason they went for Mike instead of me. It was because of some stupid sense of misguided loyalty to me that he didn't tell them anything and let them do this to him." He took another gulp of Scotch. "All. My. Fault."

Donna looked at him with something akin to pity on her face. "Harvey…"

He stood up abruptly. "What more is there to say, Donna?"

She sighed. "I can't change your mind, Harvey. But at least hear me say this – there is a reason Mike is loyal to you. You've done everything for him, he owes his whole life right now to you; don't you think he knows that? I wouldn't call that misguided loyalty." She paused. "I'd call it friendship."

* * *

"You wanted to see me?" Mike asked, walking through the door of Harvey's office.

Harvey looked up. "Don't you ever knock? I can't just have any old nobody wandering in here off the street," he said jokingly.

Mike snorted. "I think I count for a bit more than any old nobody. What's up?"

"They were trying for a hostile takeover," Harvey said without preamble. "They thought that if they could get enough information on Fleetwood's hold on the situation, they'd know when the time was right to throw him out. They'd threatened Jefferson's family if he didn't cooperate by stalling for as long as possible, so I guess you were right that he was caught between two impossible outcomes. Either he stalled us and risked getting fired by Fleetwood, or he fixed the situation and lost his wife and kids. It's a no-brainer, really."

Mike nodded slowly. "Makes sense, I guess." He didn't look too troubled at the news, just thoughtful. He got to his feet. "Anything else you need?"

The bruises had faded to a greenish-yellow by now and the cut on his head was hardly visible. Apart from the bandage still on his arm, in a few days there would be no visible sign of what Mike had been through. It would all be gone.

"Nope, you're good to go," Harvey heard himself say.

At the door, Mike stopped. "You know, I wouldn't do anything different, if it all happened again," he said quietly, almost as though he was thinking aloud. He met Harvey's eyes. "You know why? Because you might not have gotten shot for me, Harvey, but you've taken bullets meant for me a thousand times. I can never repay you for that."

He smiled, and walked out.

"I told you so," came Donna's smug voice over the intercom.

 _Fin_

* * *

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